Rest Stop
by Zooheaded
Summary: Lyndon learns to be patient and Jack learns to trust. Slash M/M (Part 3 of 'The Hunter and the Thief' series)
1. Creature Comforts

In the Diablo lore, it is Valla who is partnered with a more experienced demon hunter named Delios who succumbs to demonic corruption and slaughters the residents of Bramwell (not everyone, 15 people in a bar/inn, but she would have kept going had she not been swiftly "dealt with.") and Holbrook, while being indirectly responsible for the deaths that occurred in Havenwood. This happens just before she leaves to investigate the fallen star in Tristram. So if Valla is the canon name for the female demon hunter, it makes sense to me that if you choose to play the male, the story would be reversed making the canon name for the male demon hunter Delios. I had already named mine Jack so I kept my chosen name for this particular story.

IMDB says the male Demon Hunter's name is Cort, I don't know how accurate this is, but I do like that name. Too late now though.

Also: The tattoo mentioned is based on the existing Demon Hunter crest.

* * *

><p><em>Westron wind, when will thou blow?<em>  
><em>The small rain down can rain.<em>  
><em> Christ, if my love were in my arms,<em>  
><em> And I in my bed again.<em>

_-_Western Wind, c. 1530

* * *

><p>The fog hung in the branches of the trees, unwilling to relinquish its hold on the landscape. The forest was dim and the gray sky washed the air in a blue haze, it had been raining off and on for days and didn't look like it wanted to let up anytime soon, much to Lyndon's ongoing displeasure. He was traveling with Jack in the countryside southeast of Tristram after Diablo had been defeated in the Silver City, a feat so monumental that Lyndon still had dreams about it and occasionally doubted it had even occurred at all.<p>

That was two months ago.

Now they were traveling across Khanduras, making their way to Westmarch to right some wrongs. While they journeyed, they revisited their old haunts because Jack wanted to make sure that all was well in the cities they had saved. Arriving back in Caldeum after being in cold Mt. Arreat for so long was absolutely marvelous. The weather really was lovely and Lyndon enjoyed every single second, even when they went back out into the desert. The flow of gold hadn't stopped either! Caldeum still had some demon hordes skulking about that the Iron Wolves wanted disposed of and they were willing to pay handsomely to see it done.

It was a great system really, Lyndon could still turn a tremendous profit from the bounties, fund his little _indulgences_, all the while continuing to pay off his debt to free his brother. Jack could keep killing his hated prey and keep himself busy. It also enabled them to spread the knowledge of Adria's betrayal and put eyes and ears on the alert for any sign of her.

Eirena had asked them if she could stay for a while and study in the library of Caldeum. She said that there was much she wanted to learn about the advances of magic over the last thousand years or so, and would meet them when they needed her. Kormac had told them privately that Eirena might need his protection and insisted on staying with her.

How _honorable_ of him, Lyndon had thought. The Templar was getting much bolder, he might even try to hold her hand next!

Imagine Lyndon's surprise when Eirena actually agreed to let that wet blanket accompany her, as she was quite capable of taking care of herself, but Lyndon had seen stranger things happen. Jack had already sent a messenger (a raven that sometimes followed them, Lyndon wasn't sure if it was some kind of pet or not but Jack fed it sometimes and it allowed him to touch it, so it _must_ be) to tell them to meet him in Westmarch in three weeks time. Jack thought it best to sort out whatever it was that was going on with Kormac's silly order before they moved on to dive headfirst into the marvelous little shit show Lyndon was expecting in Kingsport.

Really, Lyndon didn't mind putting it off a little, he was anxious enough about it as it was.

Tyrael was off doing his own secret business, Lyndon could only guess what he was up to and didn't much dwell on it. Something about the Soulstone Jack had told him. Lyndon didn't much care. He hoped they'd never see that stupid, black, demon rock again really. Shen had run off somewhere, promising that he'd find them again at some point. Lyndon was actually rather sad to see him go. He genuinely liked the eccentric jeweler. They often swapped stories about women, one of his favorite topics! What he liked even more was that the old geezer actually _paid_ him for the various gems he brought back.

Haedrig had gone back to Tristram for a while. He wanted to be somewhere familiar and see how the town was getting on. He also had to tell everyone who was left in that forsaken place the sad story of what had become of Leah.

Jack had said they would come get him on the way to Westmarch if he so wished and Haedrig had agreed. Lyndon was glad of this, he didn't want to lose his most reliable drinking companion. Lyndon thought it very considerate of the Demon Hunter to provide the blacksmith with some decent work. Akarat knew that fixing their armor and equipment was a full time job with all the _trouble_ they got themselves into.

Jack had genuinely shocked him by making a promise to help get his brother out of the Kingsport's prison and pay off the Merchant's Guild. Even though they had been through much together, Lyndon still had trouble accepting that the Demon Hunter was willing to give so much to him and want absolutely _nothing_ in return. Lyndon hadn't expected anything from Jack, what had possessed the hunter to _offer _such a thing? Lyndon just couldn't understand. The scoundrel's troubles seemed woefully insignificant when compared to the salvation of their entire world, but Jack had insisted upon helping him. The man was really too kind for his own good, though he hid it well behind a stern exterior.

The thief wasn't very good at accepting such grand acts of generosity after growing up in a world where he had to bite and claw for everything he had, there was always a catch or a string attached and he almost wanted to demand what Jack thought he was doing and what he wanted from him. The sullen Demon Hunter wasn't very good at explaining his reasons. Or expressing his emotions.

Really, he just wasn't very good at communication in general.

The man didn't keep very many friends either, in fact, Lyndon considered himself one of the few. Whether Jack liked this or not was still a mystery. The hunter was very unused to the ins and outs that came with friendship and kept quiet most of the time, but Lyndon liked that just fine, he wouldn't be able to stand it if someone were to talk more than he did!

Lyndon expected that the Thieves Guild would be out in force to kill them when they finally arrived in Kingsport, but what were some ragged, thick-skulled vagabonds in comparison to the denizens of the Burning Hells? Just about nothing really. And Lyndon had gotten better. Stronger. Much more skilled than he used to be. He wasn't worried at all.

Well... maybe just a little. He'd made _a lot_ of people angry. He supposed they'd cross that bridge when they came to it (and then _burn_ said bridge immediately after with lots and lots of fire _please_ and _thank_ you).

It had never been just the two of them before, at least not for so long. There was always at least someone _else_ Lyndon could speak to when Jack didn't feel like talking (which was most of the time). Even Kormac could be amusing if Lyndon got him going.

Jack often complained that he talked too much, but Lyndon just didn't want to feel like he was alone. He would do just about anything to stave off the feelings of guilt, loneliness and uselessness that threatened to suffocate him when he had too much quiet time to think. It was better when he kept his mind (or even better, his body) occupied as often as possible, and if that meant spitting out whatever popped into his head, so be it.

Even if the he was doing _most_ of the talking, they still did rather well together if Lyndon said so himself. Their shared affinity for ranged weapons really helped to grease the wheels of conversation. Lyndon had spent many a dark night out in the wilderness, shoulder to shoulder with the other man, watching in quiet amazement when Jack showed him the rituals and deadly materials he used to enchant his arrows with demonic magic. A skill perfected by the Demon Hunters in the Dreadlands. Jack refused to let Lyndon _use_ these arrows however, giving him elemental and simple replicating ones instead.

"But why not?" Lyndon had brazenly argued. "They're so much better than mine and if _you_ made them then it would probably be _alright_ because-"

"No. It takes a lot of training to resist the demon's corruption, and for most people it cannot be learned at all. I would not have you hurt by my lack of responsibility." Jack replied firmly.

If it had been anyone else, Lyndon would have argued until he was blue in the face, but when it was Jack, he found it easier to accept that the Demon Hunter knew better than he did. If only for this _particular_ subject. He was also a bit surprised when Jack more or less admitted he cared about him.

Lyndon was disappointed, but Jack tried to make up for it by teaching him how to make grenades, bola shots and some traps that contained small amounts of shadow energy.

Nothing demonic though. The hunter would not be swayed on that.

Even with more dark business looming ahead of them, Lyndon felt good to be back in the forests, farmlands and moors he was so accustomed to. Many of the recent days had consisted of trekking through misty green fields, over rock walls and farmland, dark forests and just miles and miles of cold, foggy, wet country. Lyndon didn't like the wet and cold part so much, but after spending so long in the burning desert, frozen north, and even Hell itself, it was definitely good to be home.

They finally emerged from the forest that bordered the eastern shore of the Gulf of Westmarch in the late evening after spending five long, wet days traveling through it. It had started raining long before that and Lyndon fantasized about a bed to sleep in and a woman to warm it. The hunter tended to avoid towns for unknown reasons, preferring to camp on the outskirts, much to Lyndon's endless discomfort and frustration. In his humble opinion, they had spent far too many weeks sleeping on cold, muddy ground struggling to burn damp wood to keep the raw chill at bay, often within viewing distance of cozy looking lodgings. It had been raining for so long that their cloaks did little to keep them dry anymore. Lyndon was cold and wet most of the time and complained often, typically with no response, but that wasn't unusual. It was hard to get words out of the hunter on even the best of days, even through teasing.

Jack must have been cold, wet and tired as well but he never said a word to indicate that he was anything other than "Fine," but there was a _weariness_ about the Demon Hunter lately that was worrisome. Lyndon could not be sure if the other man slept at all, even though he was _traveling_ with him. He was always still awake when Lyndon dropped off and was up before him every morning. He seemed to look alright, at least, he didn't look any _worse_ as the days went on. He'd always had dark circles under his eyes but there wasn't the slow deterioration he'd observed while they'd been at Bastion's keep. Still, he seemed tired, _drawn_ somehow when he shouldn't have been, it wasn't like wandering around in the wilderness was _difficult_, at least it wasn't when compared to what they'd been doing the past couple of months.

A small group of deer pranced into the forest upon seeing them enter the field, leaping high over a crumbling rock wall that bordered the treeline. The most animals they had seen in one place for a long time. Lyndon's stomach growled, they were running low on food again. When they would make camp in the evenings, Jack would sometimes disappear into the woods for a while, leaving Lyndon to his own devices. He would return silently, with pheasants or rabbits, or most recently a young stag. Lyndon frequently volunteered to help (sometimes he got a little nervous being alone in the dangerous wilderness, not that he would ever admit it) but Jack stated that his incessant chatter would probably scare all the animals away.

"I know how to be quiet you _berk_." Lyndon had muttered irritably the night Jack had taken the stag.

"Good, then you'll have more time to practice while I'm gone." Jack called over his shoulder before disappearing into the woods. A living shadow that Lyndon could not even hear as soon as he had gone out of sight. Privately, Lyndon thought that Jack made him stay behind to get some time _away_ from him, which hurt his feelings a little bit, but he had come to accept that Jack needed his time alone. Lyndon spent this time tending the fire and staring wide eyed into the darkness, ever alert for the shuffling of a rotting undead or the pitter patter of little demon feet. He tried not to let his thoughts drift to women when he was alone, it would make things rather _awkward_ if the hunter were to return too quickly.

Sometimes he was tempted to go through the Demon Hunter's things, maybe take a peek at his journal, but knowing him, Jack would probably notice that it had been moved and shout at him. Something he preferred to avoid. The last time he had angered the man he didn't speak to him for nearly a day, and it had been_ terribly_ boring.

These small hunting excursions supplied them with enough food to keep them going, but the local game had not been very plentiful since the demons had infiltrated the countryside, even though their presence was waning, the animals were slow to return. All their wealth and much of their possessions had been sent ahead to Westmarch. They had taken some money and supplies but it was too cumbersome to travel with chests loaded with gold and jewels so they didn't have a healthy supply of gold to aid in filling their stomachs.

Lyndon still kept a healthy amount on his person, as was his habit, but he had also sent much of what he earned to his brother's family, as he usually did. Surely they would have enough to live comfortably in a nice house in Kingsport by now? But he had yet to hear anything from them. It was to be expected, he supposed. Rea hated him and wanted nothing to do with him because of the trouble he had gotten Edlin into. He couldn't blame her, he hated himself for it too. Sometimes he thought it was better that they didn't talk, but that didn't make her hatred of him hurt any less. How old would their children be by now? Would they have called him _Uncle_ Lyndon?

Well, it didn't matter. No point in dwelling on it.

Right, so the animals had just recently started to grow in number again. They had turned most of the deer into jerky and had made new arrow points from the bones. Bone tips were more readily able to accept magic than wrought metal or stone, Jack had so patiently explained to him. Something about formerly being alive, thus making them good for "beginning enchanters" or whatnot. They kept the skull, antlers and skin to sell or exchange for supplies in the next town they came to (hopefully food). The taste of jerky was no longer as appealing as it had once been and Lyndon's stomach growled for hot stew, fresh bread and most importantly, good _wine_.

As they crested the hill at the end of the field, they could see the warm lights of a small village about a mile from where they stood. Lyndon was beyond relieved, "Ah! Oh thank Akarat! Our troubles are _over_!" Just then, the light rain they had been in all week grew heavier, the skies opened and it began to downpour. "Are you bloody _serious_?! Come on, this just isn't fair!" Lyndon wailed, and broke into a fast trot. He was so eager to get to the town and shack up in the local Inn that he almost forgot the brooding man standing behind him.

"Lyndon, where are you going?" Jack asked him with what sounded like genuine curiosity. A dark mood seemed to have swiftly enveloped his tall companion for no apparent reason, unless the rain had upset Jack more than it had the scoundrel, which he really _doubted_.

"Where am I- ugh, to that _town_ obviously, what are you still standing around for?!" Lyndon shouted irritably. He could barely see through the heavy rainfall and could feel the icy water soaking into his hair uncomfortably.

"We're not staying here, we'll stop at the next town." Jack replied icily, turning away.

What in the _burning_ Hells?

"_Excuse_ me Jacky. Did I hear you correctly? Because I do believe you just said that, even though there is a town with an Inn that has a roof and food and warm beds and fires that actually produce _heat_, right down _there_, you want to camp outside again in this driving rain with no food and wet clothing, and possibly catch our deaths in this charming weather?" Lyndon stated sarcastically.

"Yes." Jack answered, deadpanned.

"Ah, yes, that's what I _thought_ you said." Lyndon said with false cheer. "Are you completely DAFT?!" He roared, struggling to hear himself over the pouring rain. He could felt water dripping into his boots from his soaked pants, he just wanted to get _inside_ and sit by a roaring fire for the rest of the evening.

"We are _not_ spending another night out here, its been _weeks_." Lyndon complained loudly, he couldn't believe how ridiculous the hunter was being, it was almost as if he _enjoyed_ being cold and miserable. "I'm _hungry_. We're almost out of _food_ and we haven't been completely dry for _days_. My feet are cold, I'm sure I'll get _sick_. Which will be your fault by the way. No. No! I absolutely won't stand for it, this is the first town we've seen in some time and we're bloody well going to stop at it!" He snapped, wet clothes no doubt making him irritable.

"...We will not be well received." Jack argued lamely after a pause, not meeting his eyes.

"Are you bloody_ serious_? You're afraid of a few country farmers and poor merchants _looking_ at us funny? Like that even matters, you've single-handedly killed the Lord of Terror! What's a few dirty looks in comparison to that!? I get dirty looks all the time! You don't see me complaining!" Lyndon shot back.

"Its not that... its just-" Jack began, appearing to be suddenly upset, even a bit... was that fear he saw? Lyndon had never seen him act this way before and was more than a little confused. He paused in his rant, waiting for Jack to continue.

"Come on, out with it! _What_?" Lyndon snapped when the hunter did not immediately speak. He was getting impatient to get out of this damned rain.

There was a long pause. Lyndon waited, but Jack didn't continue. He stared at him instead, then back at the town.

"We're not spending another night outside, especially in _this_!" Lyndon grit out, waving a hand in exasperation at the heavens "We're going to that town and getting a room at whatever wretched structure they have that can be called an Inn, right _now_."

Jack scoffed, but reluctantly conceded. "Fine then, if you want to so badly, lead the way." He sarcastically waved his arm to give Lyndon the right of way.

"Are you _sure_ Jacky?" Lyndon asked nastily. "Are you absolutely _sure_ you don't just love it out here? I wouldn't want to _rain_ on your "nice" time."

The Demon Hunter narrowed his eyes at him, then stormed past him down the hill toward the town. Lyndon couldn't remember the last time he had been more furious with the Demon Hunter, he was acting beyond ridiculous. What was his bloody _problem_ anyway?

They marched angrily down the hill, not speaking to each other, cloaks wrapped tightly against the driving rain.

* * *

><p>True to the Demon Hunter's prediction, they did not receive a very warm welcome.<p>

The name of the town, Lyndon learned from the hanging wooden sign, was Holbrook, and after a brief but intense argument with the ornery gatekeeper who was very _reluctant_ to let them in after nightfall, requiring the eventual persuasion of a bit of gold, they managed to be allowed inside the gates. They were met with simple wood and stone houses running along a single, wide cobblestoned street with muddy channels running along its edges. There was little difference in the architecture found in the small villages of Khanduras then from the less wealthy houses in the Kingdom of Westmarch. At least as far as Lyndon noticed whenever he'd bothered to pay attention to such things. If you've seen _one_ little village you've seen them all.

They passed a puddle filled with happily splashing ducks while an unhappy man struggled to herd them into a pen, and weaved around several goats and sheep that were being followed by another unhappy, wet farmer. Others were putting their merchant stands away for the evening, likely getting ready to head to the town's inn for a nightcap. Lyndon quickened his pace, eager to get out of the weather. The few residents they saw outside stared at them with obvious distrust while they went about their evening business. Nothing particularly worrisome, people tended to be distrustful of travelers these days due to the recent troubles.

But then things started to become more strange. Some people recoiled from them as if Lyndon and Jack were hideously malformed, this being the exact _opposite_ of what Lyndon looked like at least. Others shouted at them and one simply ran away upon sighting them.

Lyndon always anticipated a little nervousness in a new place with the Demon Hunter around, but this was a little more _unusual_ than Lyndon initially expected. Lyndon didn't think that he looked particularly scary (more like roguishly handsome) and he was very confused why everyone was suddenly so frightened and hostile toward them.

"Go back to the Dreadlands, _monster_!" One woman hissed from the relative safety of her doorway.

Lyndon scowled at her, "Well that's not a very friendly thing to-"

_Hang on._

Dreadlands? Isn't that where- Lyndon realized then that all the fear and hatred was not directed at _him_, but rather at his stoic companion, who had so far remained completely silent. In fact, Jack was currently doing his best to hide himself, he hunched deep into his cloak, obscuring all visible traces of his unique armor and crossbows.

What exactly was going on here? No one had ever reacted to Jack in this way before, though the man's eyes did glow rather strangely in low light like small dancing flames (much like they were doing now) but it was _hardly_ noticeable. Well, mostly. They were looking at him as if he were no better than a _demon_. But they didn't even know that he had _saved_ them. _All of them! _He had saved New Tristram, which wasn't more than a few days away, surely they would have heard of him and his insufferably noble deeds? And Jack was being so quiet! He 'd never been afraid speak up before. Why would he just silently take such abuse from people he didn't even know?

"_What's all this then?_" Lyndon whispered to Jack, forgetting all about their little spat. The hunter said nothing in reply and continued to stare at the ground listlessly.

Well! If the man was going to just _ignore_ him then Lyndon wasn't even going to bother.

"Remember what happened at Havenwood!" One man muttered to another as they passed. What? Did two strangers harmlessly visit that town _too_? Ridiculous.

"Get out of here you ugly demon!" Another woman hissed fearfully.

"_Piss off_ you nasty wench!" Lyndon tossed back and she squeaked and hurried inside. Rude bint.

Now that one was a little hurtful. Jack wasn't as handsome as Lyndon was, but he was certainly not _ugly_.

After enduring many dirty looks and dirty words, the local lodgings were soon in sight. Lyndon had been wet and cold for so long that he had begun to shiver, he no longer cared what the townsfolk said, no longer cared to fight verbally with any of them. They were too scared approach them anyway and the vast majority simply ignored them, which he was more than fine with. He just wanted to get _inside_ somewhere (or some_one_ if luck was in his favor). He was glad to see the tavern ahead of them. A sign swung in the rain above the door, '_The Three Arrows Inn_' decorated with three bolts pointing at each other's ends to form a triangle. How _fitting_ for them.

This was proving to be less pleasant than Lyndon had hoped, but he refused to leave after all the work he went through in convincing Jack to come here. He expected that things would improve once they'd purchased a nice room and changed into dry clothes. The people inside didn't know about them yet (he hoped) and with Jack effectively hiding himself, they might just be able to slip by unnoticed and get a comfortable evening out of this after all.

When they entered the building they were again met with the same old distrustful glances, but Lyndon was ready this time and turned on the charm. He could certainly walk, yes, but it was _gold_ that talked. Lyndon put on his his most attractive smile and plunked a bag of gold down on the bar. The fat, bearded owner stared at him with the most unpleasant scowl, but Lyndon's quick eye did not miss how he glanced at the sparkling coins.

"My good man, if you would be so kind, your best room for the night with a fireplace and fur blankets for myself and my friend here." He said smoothly, grinning and pleasant as you please. Gold worked every time, but a smile never hurt either.

Throughout Lyndon's silver-tongued handling of the bartering process with their less than amiable host, Jack did not speak, he did not look 'round, he just stared at the floor. He let Lyndon take care of everything and attempted to blend in to the shadows. Unusual. He didn't often trust the scoundrel to do such things for him. He'd never seen the man just hide himself like this and fall to the background. It was almost as if he were_ ashamed_ of something, or far more confusing, _afraid_.

He was still a little angry at Jack for being so unreasonably stubborn, but he couldn't help but start to worry.

"Thank you, thank you! You are _most_ kind." Lyndon paid the man and cheerfully hopped up the stairs, eager to inspect their sleeping quarters and finally change into something_ dry_.

Jack shadowed him silently. Lyndon was fine with that.

He threw open the door and was immediately crestfallen. There was only one bed. He did _not_ want to sleep next to that tall, lanky, grumbling _killjoy_. He looked sidelong at Jack, disappointed, and still Jack said nothing! Lyndon expected at _least_ a scowl. The man only had three facial expressions after all: irritated, bland, and murderous rage. Didn't he care about this at all? Jack could barely sleep near him in their bedrolls, preferring to stay as far away as he could politely manage, surely this would be far too close for comfort.

What in the _bleeding_ Hells was wrong with him?

Lyndon decided that one bed was at least better than no bed at all (really, he had no qualms about sharing so long as the other person didn't steal the blankets) and gratefully dropped his bags on the floor. The bed was very large and covered with blankets and furs, as he had asked. Well, that was good too. He cast another glance at the hunter, his long crane-like legs would probably take up most of the space. Perhaps Jack would be prudish enough to want to sleep on the floor? One could dream. The bed looked _very_ comfortable, and Lyndon was _very_ tired and almost wanted to go to sleep right then and there, but he was also very _hungry_. He leaned up his crossbow and closed the door, locking it securely. Jack moved to the other side of the room and started to remove his wet clothes, Lyndon quickly followed suit.

They were both soaked to the bone. His leather boots were going to take _forever_ to dry, same with his coat. Lyndon hung everything he removed near the fire on any hook or chair edge he could find, hoping it would be dry enough to wear by tomorrow. When he tipped his boots upside down, a bit of water poured out onto the floor, causing the scoundrel to make a face. Lyndon glanced at Jack then to see if he was having a similar experience. He had his back to him, and was removing armor pieces one at a time, setting them aside with great care. Lyndon felt a small amount of satisfaction seeing that the untouchable hunter was shivering as well. That proved the man could at least feel _something_. He wasn't infallible, Nephalem or not. Just like the _rest_ of them.

Lyndon smiled to himself, pleased that all of his extra clothes had remained perfectly dry in his bag.

Jack removed his shirt with stiff movements, hands trembling, unaware of (or deliberately ignoring) Lyndon's curious gaze. The scoundrel was surprised to see a large, ornate tattoo on the man's back between his shoulder blades. It was a very detailed work of art that was applied with great skill, Lyndon had seen many tattoos adorning thieves in the guild, but rarely saw ones so intricate. The image was of a creepy, hooded, demon skull with large, angular horns. The creature's hood bore a familiar iron cross design that Lyndon had seen adorning Jack's armor numerous times. Above the skull was the top half of a singular, ornate crossbow and below were decorative, overlapping plates of armor, also bearing the iron cross. The entire piece was richly colored. Lyndon was immediately very curious as to why Jack had it, what it meant and how it was done so skillfully. He thought it looked like a crest of some kind, but he had never seen anything like it before. He very much wanted to ask about it, but at that moment, Jack glanced back and caught him staring.

"What?" The man snapped, the first thing he'd said since they arrived. He realized Jack was naked except for his cloak that he carefully held over his body to cover himself. He was looking a bit embarrassed at being scrutinized, and did Lyndon detect the hint of a blush on his cheeks, how _amusing_, who would have thought the big bad hunter could be so bashful. HA! Lyndon had no such physical reservations. He carefully filed this knowledge away for later teasing.

"_Nothing_, Sir Sourpuss." Lyndon snapped, irritated by the hunter's abysmal attitude. "Better hold that cloak securely, someone might _see_ you!" He teased.

Jack scowled and said nothing, but turned away from him, cloak clutched tightly against himself, and put more distance between them to continue changing. _Bloody child_. Lyndon noticed a large, dark bruise on the hunter's hip, he didn't see it before because he had been so interested in the tattoo. The bruise must have hurt, and didn't appear to be very old he probably got it a few days ago when they had come across that farm that had a demon infestation. The farmer was grateful for their assistance and had rewarded them with food. Lyndon didn't realize that Jack had been injured then, he hadn't said anything.

That was always the damned problem wasn't it? He never bloody _said_ anything!

Lyndon finished changing into his dry clothes and smoothed his wet hair back into place, primping his appearance a bit in preparation for the hunt of females. He turned to Jack, who was now dressed in a simple black, sleeveless tunic and dark, form-fitting leather pants, and was attempting to towel dry his raven black hair with a spare shirt.

He supposed he might as well give communication one last try. "Shall I get us some food or is that too much of a luxury for you?" Lyndon asked dryly.

Jack glared at him, as he'd expected.

"Do whatever you _like_." The hunter finished hanging his clothes by the fire to dry and sat down on the bed to tinker with his crossbows, pointedly avoiding Lyndon's gaze.

_Fine then, you miserable twat._

Lyndon sighed theatrically and left, shutting the door firmly behind him.


	2. Tread Lightly

_"The thief, as will become apparent, was a special type of thief. This thief was an artist of theft. Other thieves merely stole everything _ _that was not nailed down, but this thief stole the nails as well."_

―Terry Pratchett, _Sourcery_

* * *

><p>Lyndon went downstairs to the bustling inn, the patrons still cast him many a suspicious glance, but because he was alone, without his crossbow, and dressed more casually, they were considerably more welcoming. Well, as welcoming as local drunks and poor, superstitious farmers could be to a complete stranger traveling with a decidedly dangerous looking, and grim individual at any rate. Which meant that they were<em> ignoring<em> him. That suited Lyndon just fine, he was used to being a new face in a town he'd never been to before. It was easy to fall back into the old rhythms of blending in when he didn't want to be seen and making a show of himself when he desired to be noticed. He'd been doing it successfully for years and _certainly_ didn't need Jack to hold his hand.

Ignorance was a cutpurse's _very_ _best_ friend after all.

At least no one was shouting things at him anymore. He could understand why Jack had made them nervous, the miserable sod practically had a storm cloud over his head at all times. He just didn't know how to _smile_ to put people at ease. That and his penchant for dressing in all black like some godsdamned bloody grim reaper probably didn't help his case much either. Lyndon always knew that he was the more _charming_ one in their little duo.

He leisurely strolled up to the bar to read the posted menu for that evening and elbowed his way in between the locals to see what was behind the counter to eat. Pack beast stew, _very_ promising, a Khanduras favorite. Much better than eating dried venison for days on end. The stew was simmering in a large pot in the tavern's backroom and as soon as he smelled it he felt his mouth begin to water. He eyed the drink list now, mostly local brews, some promising sounding harvest ales -and huh, that meant they _had_ missed the harvest festival in Westmarch, how _disappointing_- and wines imported from Westmarch. Unusual, he didn't think anyone in this little village could even afford such pricy drinks. More for _him_ then! As Lyndon glanced around at the patrons, he quickly spied a pretty young thing with a gorgeous figure and flowing brown hair, sitting at a nearby table, tittering with her friends.

What a nice surprise! He decided that he'd earned a little alone time from the boss upstairs. He stared at the girl openly, leaning against the bar and smirking, waiting for her to notice him. He winked at her when she caught his eye. She giggled, blushed and turned to whisper excitedly to her friends while glancing back at him every so often.

Ahhh, at least _some_ things were still normal around here. He might even get lucky tonight if he played his cards right. Ha, who was he kidding? He was _always_ lucky with girls! Though they would have to have their romp at _her_ place as he was in no position to entertain guests. He could barely entertain the wretched bastard upstairs as it was.

Preferring to allow his chosen conquest to become adequately curious about him before he made his move, Lyndon decided to make the rounds of the spacious tavern before he introduced himself. He ordered a pint of the local ale and casually sauntered through the bar, weaving around barmaids and patrons. A sip of the ale revealed that, though it was not the _best_ he had ever had, it certainly wasn't the horse piss he feared it would be. _Nice_. He began to observe, sizing up the room and cataloging who was here, and who was _easy_, as was his usual habit. There were people gathered around a large fireplace at the far wall opposite the bar. A large pack beast head was displayed proudly above the stone and wood mantle. On the mantle itself was scattered some pottery of various sizes, probably locally made. Nothing too valuable was ever out on display in such a public place. Probably because of thieves like himself.

Lyndon joined the huddled group, found a seat near the fire and warmed himself gratefully for a few minutes. He still felt quite a chill from being out in the rain and wished for the hundredth time that he had a spare cloak or a warmer shirt, his simple tunic wasn't doing much for him at the moment. He should have just worn a blanket down, and to _Hell_ with what anyone else thought. The rain was still coming down heavily outside, he could see it pouring off the edge of the roof through the curtains on the glass window. With his luck it would probably freeze overnight. He wasn't looking forward to trudging through cold mud tomorrow. Especially if his boots didn't dry properly.

He sighed, taking a long pull from his mug.

This Inn seemed to be unusually crowded for such a small town, but Lyndon supposed it was likely due to the poor weather. It was probably warmer in here than many of the farmer's own houses, depending on how poor they were. He was unfortunately familiar with those kinds of circumstances, having spent much of his life in the Kingsport slums. Lyndon's eyes moved deftly from person to person. He saw some easy pickings among the more upper class individuals and decided to take the opportunity (without Jack nannying him) to engage in some profitable stress relief. Good old fashioned _pilfering_. He walked through the crowd, nursing his drink, quicksilver fingers lifting jewelry, rings, purses of money and even a pair of earrings, all without a single person even looking up. If stealing could be considered a craft, he would say he had mastered it. And if he wasn't going to give up stealing right _away_, despite promises he had made, he at least wasn't going to take anything from people who couldn't afford to lose a few coins here or a shiny bauble there.

Mm, _baby steps_.

Lyndon felt an uncomfortable prickling sensation spread over the back of his neck and realized that he was being watched. Some men, four to a corner table, were attempting to be subtle about staring at him. He cast them a sweeping glance, making it appear to be an accident, and took careful note when they looked away quickly. Lyndon knew that _no one_ could have seen him pickpocketing. Other than when he had been much younger, the only person to have ever caught him in the act was the Demon Hunter upstairs. These men must have been watching him for some _other_ reason. Perhaps they saw him and Jack arrive in town and wanted to harm them?

It was very possible. _Lots_ of things wanted to kill them, and for some _unfathomable_ reason, not many people liked Demon Hunters all that much. In a small town like Holbrook, word of strangers traveled fast.

Or perhaps they had have seen him throwing his gold around earlier and were looking to rob him? _Ha!_ He wished them the best of luck. Even without the Demon Hunter around, _no one_ stole from him. _Ever_. He supposed either scenario was a possibility but neither was particularly worrisome. There was little that _truly_ worried him anymore after visiting Hell, least of all petty thieves. He tried not to think of what awaited him in Kingsport, shrugging off the bad thought with practiced ease.

Lyndon pointedly did not look back at the men as he strolled his merry way back to the bar. He instead glanced at them through his peripherals as he ordered two large helpings of the stew, a loaf of fresh bread and a bottle of the best wine they had in the back. One man was speaking urgently to a much put upon barmaid while the others continued to state at him. He heaved a sigh.

How _tiresome_.

Still, he'd have to make sure their door was locked tightly. Lyndon wanted to enjoy sleeping in an actual bed for long as possible, and being disturbed in the middle of the night didn't _quite_ agree with this desire.

The thief promptly assumed the men were a minimal threat and forgot all about them as soon as there was food set in front of him.

Though Jack was being as stubborn as an ass, Lyndon did not want him to go hungry. He much preferred him alive and able to protect them from demonic hordes, babbling cultists, demon lords, or even ornery, wandering foliage. He couldn't very well do that on an empty stomach now, could he?

Well, previous experience said that he _could_, but Lyndon supposed he should bring him something to eat all the same.

Feeling rather good, Lyndon tipped the bartender generously with some of the gold he'd lifted. He loved a five finger discount! He snagged an empty tray from behind the bar, drifted over to the table of women, food in hand, and proceeded to look them over. Well, well, a redhead a blonde and a brunette. All his favorites in one convenient place!

"Good evening ladies." He said, smiling widely.

"Good evening!" They parroted, then laughed, obviously all quite drunk. This made it all the easier for Lyndon to seduce them. Not that he ever needed help, mind you.

"I was just on my way to visit my friend in his room, but I thought I'd come over and say hullo." Lyndon addressed them amiably.

"Your friend you say? Is he as _handsome_ as you?" The blonde girl cackled like a chicken ready to lay an egg.

"Nooo, nonono, not _quite_." Lyndon said, grinning. He immediately thought of the dashing war hero image the hunter seemed to fit so easily, even though he didn't even try. Bastard.

"I saw him come in with you, but his face was hidden by his cloak. He looked strong! You two aren't from 'round here are you?" The brunette he had initially noticed said to him, nearly spilling her drink all over the table. He smiled. What a charming bunch of ladies!

"I am from _Kingsport_, but I have been... _traveling_ around recently to far off places. I'm just passing through your fair village." He continued, using his most irresistible voice. It was always a tossup whether he would say he was from Kingsport or Westmarch, depending on what his evening's quarry seemed to find most interesting. People from Westmarch tended to look down their noses at Kingsport residents, but people from smaller towns in Khanduras usually know any better. All the better for him, and he'd disguised his native accent well enough into something a bit more cultured so no one would ever mistake him for lower class.

"Oooh, did you hear that girls? He's an _adventurer_!" The red haired girl exclaimed. They all laughed again and he joined in. It was almost too easy for Lyndon to make them like him, he hardly had to do anything at all. It was a simple thing to rely on the good looks he was blessed with, and the charm he had honed with practice. It did the work for him really.

"Why_ yes _darling_, _an adventurer indeed! I've been to all sorts of _wild_ places. My name is Lyndon." He said seductively. "Ah! No need to introduce yourselves!" He interrupted them quickly (he didn't care what their names were anyway). "I was going to turn in for the evening, but I think that after seeing such _lovely_, young ladies I'll be coming back downstairs _very_ soon, then we can all get better acquainted."

"Take your time Lyndon, we'll be here all night!" The blonde said, laughing.

"I look forward to sharing your... _company_." Lyndon said then nodded goodbye.

Hmm, he thought that went very well, he definitely had a chance or three. Now to go eat before his dinner got cold.

Lyndon ventured back up the creaking, wooden staircase, stomach growling, positively _starving_ now. Once he got to the closed door he remembered the sulky Demon Hunter and his good mood was slightly dampened. Sometimes he wondered why the Demon Hunter even bothered to bring him along if he apparently hated conversing with Lyndon so much. It didn't make a whole lot of sense to him. He thought he'd be used to Jack's sour moods by now, but they still _irked_ him every single bloody time.

Resigning himself to another round of the game "mutters and glares," he sighed heavily, and opened the door, carefully balancing their food on the tray he'd borrowed.

He was surprised to see all their clothes strung up on several ropes, held firmly to the wall by arrows. Apparently, Jack had thought their casual draping of clothing on chairs and wall hooks wasn't good enough. There was so much hanging fabric that Lyndon was momentarily reminded of the makeshift hovels in the Caldeum sewers. Jack was sitting in the room's only armchair, pulled right up to the fireplace, surrounded by a curtain of cloaks and garments. His eyes were half lidded, the glint of their burning gaze clearly visible from the doorway, matching the fire they stared into. Lyndon noted the hunter's posture: tense but tired. Years as a thief had taught him how to read people very well, he could tell that something was gnawing away at the man but he wasn't sure how to approach him to dispel it.

Arm beginning to ache, Lyndon closed the door and walked to the table to set the food tray down. It was strange to see Jack so under-dressed. Lyndon was very used to the imposing figure he cut in full Demon Hunter armor. Without it, he looked much smaller, still lean and muscular, and taller than anyone he had ever met save perhaps, a _barbarian_, but a little thin from too many missed meals. In his black, sleeveless tunic, Lyndon could see the bare skin of his arms for the first time in months. His bare feet propped upon the hearth to be warmed were perhaps the strangest of all.

"Hey, I brought some dinner, are you hungry?" Lyndon called to him. Nothing, not even a head turn. Lyndon sighed softly and set the tray down on the small table. How_ frustrating_. He really wasn't in the mood to put up with this anymore. They'd had their little fights before, sure, but most of them were forgotten about or resolved quickly. Jack had a quick temper, but did not usually stay angry at the rogue for long. Lyndon rarely got mad at _all_. It was pointless to stay mad about small things. He simply didn't _care_.

"...Are you alright?" Was he still just ignoring him? Or was something _truly_ wrong? Concern was winning out over any lingering irritation he had and Lyndon wondered when he had slipped into this new role of actually_ giving_ a damn, rather than doing his best to simply ignore the other man and get away with as much gold as he could carry.

"Jack?" Lyndon said approaching the armchair cautiously.

He leaned in closely by Jack's ear, not quite touching him and whispered, "Jacky?" The hunter jumped, sitting bolt upright, scaring them both. "Lyndon?! Don't sneak up on me! And I told you not to _call_ me that!" He barked.

"Yes, I know." Lyndon replied grinning. "And I wasn't _sneaking_!" He sneered. "I said your name more than once, you must have been day dreaming, or thinking too deeply. Were you trying to _sleep_ or something?" He asked all at once.

The hunter rolled his shoulders a bit to loosen them. "No, I was... medi_- thinknig_... I'm f-"

"Fine. Yes, you've mentioned that before. I brought dinner, you really should eat some, you look a little... _odd_." Lyndon said. He grabbed a blanket off of the bed and wrapped himself up in it -it's not like there was anyone here to get prissy about his table manners- feeling much more comfortable right away. He sat himself down at the small dining table staring at the food in front of him with interest.

"_Odd?_" Jack repeated a little sharply, likely anticipating some sort of teasing remark.

"Well, tired." _Deeply troubled_, Lyndon wanted to say.

"...Oh." Jack appeared a little disappointed with himself, as if he were upset that Lyndon were able to tell. If Jack wasn't such utter _shit_ at keeping his moods under control, then perhaps Lyndon would have left him alone like he seemed to want so bloody much. It was his _own_ damn fault!

"It's stew from downstairs, pack beast and such." Lyndon said, indicating the food and taking a bite. "It's good!" He exclaimed, pleasantly surprised, looking back at Jack. "I have bread too. It's fresh, just baked! Come over here and _eat_!"

Jack said nothing and didn't move from the chair.

"You're_ sure_ you're alright now?" Lyndon wheedled, feeling much was still left unsaid.

"Must you ask so much?" Jack complained. "I said I was f-"

"Fine!" Lyndon mocked simultaneously, predicting Jack's answer with a roll of his eyes and a sarcastic wave of his hand.

The Demon Hunter fixed him with a withering glare.

"You _worry_ me sometimes." He sighed. "_Look_," Lyndon began evenly, "I'm getting a little tired of being cross with you, it's starting to require far too much effort, and for someone with an occupation as _unique_ as yours, it's rather spec_tac_ularly boring. You made such an argument against us coming here but haven't even said _why_. Now since you're so _pain_fully, _obv_iously _not _"fine," will you _please_ tell me what's got you so down at the mouth so we can go back to doing... _whatever_?" He asked earnestly. He really did want know why the Demon Hunter was upset, Lyndon wasn't used to this behavior from the man and it was throwing him for a loop.

Jack merely stared at him a moment, then spoke: "Its nothing. _Really._ Just drop it." He muttered irritably, looking away.

Lyndon sighed exaggeratedly. "_Fine_ then."

Lyndon stuffed a few more mouthfuls in, feeling better now that he wasn't so cold and hungry. "You should go to bed, you really do look tired." He said to Jack seriously after a few minutes.

"I thought you said I should _eat_ first?" Jack responded sourly. The thief shrugged at him, annoyed. _Barmy git!_ If he was going to throw his concern to the dogs, then Lyndon wasn't going to keep trying to be _nice_ to him!

Lyndon ignored him and Jack finally got up from the armchair, visibly shivering when he left the warmth of the fire. All their clothes were still wet, but if he was cold, he should put a bloody _blanket _on like Lyndon he wasn't going to suggest this to him however, because he was a bloody adult and could very well take care of _himself_.

Lyndon took another bite of stew and sighed in contentment as the food warmed his core. He was glad it was just as delicious as he'd hoped it would be. Jack sat at the table across from him and looked at their food. "Thank you Lyndon." he said softly, before beginning to eat slowly, then a little faster as he seemed to realize his hunger.

Finally some appreciation! "You're _very_ welcome. " Lyndon replied cheerfully, smiling at him, anger forgotten.

They both ate ravenously for several long minutes, neither of them speaking. It had been too long since they last ate something so good and filling. "Ah, wasn't this a good idea?" Lyndon said, breaking off a hunk of bread, using it to clean the leftover broth from his bowl. Jack said nothing, continuing to eat.

"I guess I'm not cross with you anymore." Lyndon reassured the Demon Hunter. It was difficult for him to stay in a bad mood or not think optimistically, despite the rotten things he had seen and experienced.

"Is that so?" Jack murmured absently, humoring him.

"Yes, it was very _boring_ talking to myself." Lyndon continued. "Though I will tell you I am _quite_ the conversationalist."

"Bored hm? Is that why you amused yourself downstairs by pickpocketing those poor villagers?" Jack accused harshly.

"Ah_ha_... Well, I _may_ have done a bit of browsing." Lyndon admitted sheepishly. Sometimes he forgot how sharp the other man could be. "And _Poor_ villagers? Hardly! I prefer to rob the _rich_. Weren't these "poor villagers" as you call them vehemently cursing your presence in the street not a handful of hours ago?" Lyndon added with a little laugh.

Jack seemed to be a bit amused by this, but the smirk faded quickly. "I can't leave you alone for a moment." He lectured.

Lyndon laughed, "Old habits, you know how it is."

"No, I really _don't_." Jack answered quickly with a distasteful expression on his face.

Lyndon pulled out the wine bottle and cracked it open, "Would you like a bit of wine?" He offered gently.

Jack gave him a _look_.

"What's _that_ face for? I _bought_ it this time!" The scoundrel exclaimed, offended.

The Demon Hunter eyed the bottle suspiciously as if it were a frothing rabid dog, eyes flicking from it to Lyndon's face and back.

"It's _wine_, not _poison _you paranoid maniac. A little won't kill you." The scoundrel drawled, mildly exasperated with him.

"...Just a little then." Jack conceded rather shyly, reaching for it, "Cheers." Lyndon said, "To better days." Jack nodded and took a swig out of the bottle, making a slight face at the taste before swallowing thickly.

Their disagreements finally out of the way, it was easy for them to slip back into the familiar back and forth they'd developed over the past months.

Lyndon struck up a conversation about the elemental arrows again and Jack patiently answered his questions. He thought he might have been doing alright with the cold ones, poison he was already good at, and fire didn't seem to be working quite as well as he'd hoped. They hadn't much discussed lightning, Jack seemed to think Lyndon might accidentally hurt himself, though he'd never said so _explicitly_. The talk started out warm enough in their usual topics but it quickly drifted cold again. Jack couldn't seem to shake himself from the black mood that was eating him. He spoke about Kormac's men's club in Westmarch and the evil he feared they might find there (bored, women starved Templars more like), the hunt for that miserable slag Adria, where Tyrael had gotten off to, and the fate of that dumb black _rock_. His thoughts were utterly dark and Lyndon wasn't sure how to help him beyond offering him wine over and over again, making sure he got the lion's share. It might help him sleep a little better at the very least. Maybe he wouldn't have any bad dreams. Jack didn't seem to be paying attention to how much he drank anyway, accepting the offer each time with the same shy hesitancy as the first.

It wasn't that Lyndon didn't _care_ about these things the hunter spoke of. Quite the _opposite_ actually, though no one would likely ever believe him. He just knew that it was unhealthy for one to dwell upon such unpleasant subjects for long periods of time without allowing oneself a break. It could really make a person depressed.

_Obviously_, as he could see by Jack's negative-Nancy attitude. Lyndon frowned and hunched deeper into the warmth of his blanket.

The Demon Hunter put away three fourths of the bottle seemingly without realizing it, while Lyndon worked to restrain himself, if only for the interesting experience of seeing the other man a little tipsy for once. Jack looked relaxed for the first time since they arrived, tense muscles loosening with the flow of alcohol. He looked even _more_ tired than he did before however, the drink lifting his veil of "fineness" away and exposing his sorry condition for proper scrutiny.

_Got you now you liar, you're exhausted, and you've never had a single drop of wine in your entire bloody life._ Lyndon thought triumphantly.

"Anyway, to answer your earlier question." Jack said rubbing his eyes and blinking rapidly. "You can enchant the bola shots with lightning magic, making them explode on their targets, I'll... I'll teach you soon. Once you master enchanting the arrows. Its important to learn that first, lightning is... _unwieldy_."

"Ah, good." Lyndon replied, pleased, and greatly looking forward to adding more tricks to his arsenal. One could never be too prepared, and he liked being good at things. He liked being able to cover his own arse without someone hauling him out of danger by the collar every other minute. Perhaps this was why Jack offered to teach him in the first place, he was getting tired of running around after him.

"Your enchanting is going well, I should teach you how to use a knife or chakram as well. If you drop your crossbow or run out of arrows-" Jack began thoughtfully.

"I have lots of daggers for a reason you know, more than enough people know better than to pick a fight with _me_, and I've never _dropped_ my crossbow!" Lyndon interjected, offended.

"No, but it was taken from you that one time, by the soul ripper's tongue, it almost punched a hole through your chest." Jack lectured blandly.

"Yes well..." Lyndon muttered, embarrassed, and picking at the edges of his blanket distractedly. "I still didn't _drop_ it, it stole it from me!"

Jack very nearly smiled at that, "I think I've drunk too much, I almost laughed. You have daggers yes, and you use them well enough for _humans_, your aim is quite good with throwing them I've noticed, but, as you know, _demons_ are a different breed."

"Hmm." Lyndon replied, grinning. He felt pleased that he was able to make Jack forget himself and laugh. Well, _almost_ laugh, if only for the moment. And the compliments were nice, coming from someone as skilled as the Demon Hunter. Not that Lyndon would ever say so out loud.

They sat in comfortable silence for several minutes.

"Lyndon?" Jack said suddenly, body tense again, and with a hint of what Lyndon _swore_ was desperation coloring his voice.

"What's the matter?" Lyndon asked, a little concerned by how he had said his name.

The hunter looked tired, his eyes were heavy and he was a little clumsy from the wine, but his body was wound tight as a bowstring. It seemed like he _desperately_ wanted to say something, but then thought better of it, staring intently out the dark, moisture splattered window. Stubborn _bastard._

"I'm... I'm going to turn in." Jack announced finally, eyes down on the table.

"I will too, in a moment." Lyndon responded, a little disappointed, talking with the Demon Hunter was like walking on eggshells sometimes. He remembered with a little bit of apprehension that they had to share the bed. Jack still hadn't mentioned their sleeping situation, he didn't seem to care at all, and if _he_ didn't, then Lyndon wouldn't let himself worry about it.

Jack stumbled to the bed, hand coming up to grasp the bedpost quickly to save his balance, he _obviously_ was not used to drinking, even though it really hadn't been all that much, his tolerance must have been _abysmal_.

"Careful there." Lyndon teased, greatly amused. He wondered what it would be like to get him _really_ smashed. Likely a laugh and a half!

The hunter shot him a sour look, then peeled the blankets back and curled up ungracefully into a tight ball in the bed, burrowing into the blankets with a soft sound. Jack watched Lyndon for a few minutes, eyes half closed and unfocused while the rogue played out a game of solitaire on the table, pretending not to notice. Eventually his eyes fell closed and he relaxed.

Lyndon glanced at him. Hm. Tired indeed. There had been less instances of nightmares in the dead of night, and Lyndon had thought that he had just been sleeping through them, or that Jack was suffering less of them. But now he was beginning to worry that the silly idiot hadn't even been sleeping at _all_. Pffha, it wasn't like Lyndon to worry so much about him, but he supposed he _had_ grown a bit fond of him over the past few months, bastard he was. Though he also supposed that he would grow fond of _anyone_ who had saved the world and then gifted him a bloody fortune on top of it. Lyndon was actually a little _surprised_ by the degree of trust the man had for him now. In the past he had guarded himself and his possessions from the thief fiercely, never sleeping in his presence or leaving his things unattended. He assumed Lyndon would try steal from him. Maybe back then he would have tried to, _had_ tried to in fact (with varying degrees of success) but now... not so much.

Lyndon waited a few minutes more, then put his cards back in their box, got up, and went to the door. He opened it soundlessly (hey, he could be quiet when he wanted to be), grateful for well-oiled hinges, and looked out into the dark hallway for a few moments. There was no one there, as he _expected_ but... still he waited. He could hear muffled noises from downstairs, clinking of glassware and the shuffling of chairs, the bell on the door jingling distantly as people exited. Things were starting to quiet down as patrons went home and travelers went to sleep. The hour was growing late, and while it was still early by Lyndon and Jack's definitions, most normal people were in bed by now. The hall upstairs was dead silent. He thought that perhaps he should have told Jack about the men he saw, but he didn't think of it at the time, and he certainly wasn't going to wake the hunter _now_ to tell him.

The stubborn bastard would probably wait up all night for them "just in case" and be even _more_ wretchedly tired and short tempered all day tomorrow. No _thank_ you.

The scoundrel suddenly realized with some small alarm, that he had _forgotten_ all about the girls he said he'd meet downstairs. He carefully thought over his options. He came to the startling conclusion that he would much rather go to bed than go back downstairs. Tempting as it was to have a little roll in the hay, (it had been too long) he decided that all he really wanted was to just roll into bed. He was cold and tired and _really_, if he thought about it, it was harder now than it was before to just have a tumble with any woman (or _otherwise_) who said yes to him. He had seen too much and the doe eyed ignorance of his bed partners ate at him.

Lyndon needed to look for something better than three poor drunk girls. _Someone_ better, someone who understood him, someone he could actually _talk_ to. He laughed a little to himself and quickly pushed such sappy romantic drivel out of his head, maybe he'd think on this again when Edlin was free... and Rea was no longer haunting his mind (if that would ever happen), but _now_ was certainly not the time to try to find the "right girl" for him. How _quaint_.

Besides, he wasn't really the marrying type.

Jack had told him once, that to witness demon slaughter was enough to leave your mind in ruins. He hadn't been kidding. _Everything_ was different now. He wondered what Jack was like years ago, before he became burdened by whatever tragedies had befallen him. He probably smiled a lot more. Sometimes Lyndon felt a bit _sorry_ for him.

Better than feeling sorry for _himself_ at any rate.

The thief closed the door and locked it securely, satisfied that no one would come calling on them tonight. He came back to the bed and saw that Jack had his twin crossbows hanging on the bedpost and had already fallen fast asleep, snoring just barely. Lyndon smiled and leaned his large crossbow up against the bed carefully, within easy reach in case anything _annoying_ happened. It was better to expect a disturbance and be prepared, than to be caught by surprise.

He couldn't deny he felt a little relief at seeing Jack asleep. That meant he was _alright_. Lyndon couldn't help but worry about him. Ever since he'd run himself into the ground and collapsed after Diablo's defeat, the scoundrel had started paying more attention to the man's health to make sure they avoided it ever happening again. It hadn't been a very nice time for anyone involved.

Lyndon snuffed out the extra candles on the mantle near the fireplace, the fire was dying down, casting flickering shadows over the warm orange glow in the room. He let it smolder, rather than put it out, enjoying the extra heat it cast. Lyndon came back to the bed and sat carefully, not wanting to wake the Demon Hunter who was normally a very cat-like sleeper. The scoundrel _desperately_ wanted to avoid being strangled. Jack barely stirred though, apparently out hard.

Thank the gods for _wine_.

Lyndon pulled the blankets up and laid down, the blanket he'd borrowed earlier cocooned around him. He felt warm and cozy laying there, listening to the rain falling outside and the hiss of the fire flickering in the fireplace. The quilts and furs were heavy, a comforting weight. He was still confident that forcing the hunter to come here was the best idea he'd had all month, he'd never felt so bloody _grateful_ to be out of the elements. Well, maybe that time when they were fighting at Bastion's Keep. That had been a _damn_ bitter wind.

And Jack was warm, there was a furnace-like heat seeping from his curled body. It was not so bad sleeping next to him as Lyndon first thought it would be, there was a good foot of space between them, plenty of room to be comfortable. It was _nice_, and there was a feeling of safety that came with being so close to someone who had brought all of Hell to its knees.

It didn't take Lyndon very long to drift off.

* * *

><p>He was rudely awoken by a something hard colliding with the back of his thigh, hard enough to bruise. A knee? It couldn't have been very long after they had turned in, but Lyndon had no concept of the time. Jack had shifted violently in his sleep and was now groaning low into the pillow, hands clenching into fists in the blankets and twisting the fabric. His face was bathed in sweat and was contorted into a mask of pain and <em>fear<em>.

_Another_ nightmare then.

The hunter had them so frequently, almost nightly (until recently), that Lyndon was practically used to them now, but that didn't make seeing it happen any easier. A bit ashamed of them, Jack had told the thief not to try to wake him because he was afraid he would hurt him by accident in his disorientation. The Demon Hunter had also insisted that they were nothing to worry about and that he'd been managing them for most of his life. Rather than being reassured, the rogue found that to be terribly _sad_. The scoundrel sometimes wished that Jack would tell him what they were about, it might make them less frequent, but usually left the man to his privacy.

Though Lyndon supposed he was one to talk, he had wretched dreams sometimes too and didn't speak about them _either_. His most recent one involved the hulking flay demons, twisting in their chains, tortured for eternity. That memory alone was horrifying enough, but then they had worn his brother's _face_. He had awoken afterward, soaked in sweat and shaking, and even now, thinking about it made his heart pick up speed. Jack had been out in the woods at the time, so he did not know about the nightmare. The relief that Lyndon wasn't seen was not enough to curb the fear of waking up alone in the woods, or the horror of what he had dreamt. Weighed down with fear and guilt, he had been unable to fall back asleep until long after Jack had returned.

At least he did not have such dreams as _often_ as Jack did, otherwise he'd surely go mad. Akarat's _tits_, how did the hunter tolerate it?

Despite what Jack said, Lyndon found that it always worked out better for both of them if he woke him anyway, if he happened to be awake while Jack was dreaming. It spared the man some pain and enabled him to get back to sleep faster. Besides, Jack hadn't tried to kill him yet _so_ far.

Well, hadn't tried to kill him _often_. It was best to wake him _before_ the screaming started. Somewhat less common, but equally, if not more so unpleasant for anyone within earshot.

"Jack, wake up." Lyndon whispered tensely, placing a hand on his chest and shaking lightly. While they had slept they had moved much closer to each other, bodies touching, unconsciously seeking warmth. The hunter moaned, grimacing and twisting his fingers into the sheets while he turned his head to the side with a violent little shake.

"Jacky you're _dreaming_, wake up!" Lyndon said a little louder.

Jack opened his eyes with a gasp and a full body jerk, panting heavily. His eyes were flame warm in the dark and illuminated part of his face with the odd light that burned within them. He blinked at Lyndon, as though he didn't recognize him at first.

"Lyndon? Was I...?" He asked, a little disoriented.

"Yes, you were dreaming again." Lyndon said quietly, laying back down and dragging the blankets back over himself to banish the chill of the dark room. It was quiet for a few minutes, neither one of them speaking, and Lyndon wasn't sure if the Demon Hunter had fallen back asleep, but then he spoke again:

"I'm sorry I woke you." Jack whispered, the strange glow in his eyes gone now.

"Its alright, don't worry about it. Let's just... go back to _sleep_." Lyndon replied, feeling sluggish and tired. The Demon Hunter sighed and moved away from him, curling up tightly again.

Hmm.

"Unless, you... you don't want to _talk_ about it... do you?" The scoundrel asked hesitantly, trying to be nice. He felt bad for him, _truly_ he did.

It was quiet again for a few more moments, and Lyndon was afraid that he had made the taller man clam up as he often did when asked any sort of personal question that didn't directly involve his skill in killing Hellborn pests.

"_It was about Leah_." Jack said quietly, voice barely above a whisper.

Of course it would be Leah. Would they ever truly stop thinking about her? How could they? How could _he?_

"I had one a few weeks ago, in the woods, I woke up and you-" He sighed. "It had been about my _brother_." Lyndon confessed when Jack didn't say anything else. And he did feel slightly better for having told someone, even if he hadn't gone into the grisly details.

Neither of them offered anything more.

Jack was soon asleep again, breath deepening and evening out, much faster than Lyndon expected. Did he feel safe here? With four walls around him, rather than the open expanse of a dark field he claimed was so much safer? It was rare for the man to sleep through a night without waking and Lyndon pitied him. It had been worse when they were at Bastion's Keep, they had been fighting almost constantly for days and were only able to get a few hours of rest at a time. The hunter had gotten even less because of the dreams. Then he had stopped sleeping altogether and relied on health potions and sheer stubbornness to keep himself upright. They- he, Kormac, Eirena and the rest of their merry band- had been unaware of the man's terrible dreams for a long time, but they had become impossible for Jack to hide at the Keep.

When Diablo had been killed, _that_ was when the hunter had been unable to continue as he had been. He had finally come to the end of his impressive limits. He'd been so exhausted that he had fallen ill and slept for nearly two full days. Lyndon had been beside himself with worry, much to the smug _amusement_ of Eirena who had watched over the man's recovery.

He didn't understand why everyone had thought it was so odd that he cared about Jack. It was like everyone expected him to not give a tinker's damn about what had happened to him. Did he really come off as so uncaring? He could make friends too if he wanted. At least Eirena seemed to have changed her opinions of him. Kormac unfortunately _less_ so.

But Jack thought he was alright enough, didn't he?

Feeling slightly depressed and a little lonely, Lyndon eventually fell back to sleep.


End file.
